


Instant Attraction

by aussiebee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Soldier!Dean, lawyer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is injured while serving in the military overseas. When he returns home with the home with the hope of surprising Sam, he finds out that Sam is currently out of town for work. Castiel, Sam's boss, offers to put him up until Sam comes home. They are instantly attracted to each other, and waste no time acting on that attraction. But will Castiel's position as Sam's boss get in the way of their happiness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instant Attraction

The taxi pulled up in front of a huge building, and Dean just stared at it for a moment before thanking the driver and reaching for his wallet.

“No worries, buddy,” the driver said, “no charge for servicemen.”

Thanks, man,” Dean replied. “Appreciate it.”

“Back atcha, son,” came the solemn reply. “Thank you for your service.”

Dean scrambled carefully out of the back seat, favouring his left shoulder, and stepped up onto the curb, shouldering his duffel. The street was busy, filled with dark-suited executive types bustling back and forth, and in his faded and dusty fatigues he received more than a few odd glances. He ignored them all in favour of heading to the foyer of the building, pushing through the enormous glass doors into the relative calm of the marble floored lobby.

His eyes scanned a large board hung on the wall directly before him and located Brigham, Peters, Novak and Smythe on floor twenty-two. He headed for the elevators and pressed 22, ignoring the disapproving stares of his fellow lift occupants.

He was the only one going to 22, and stepped out alone into a plushly carpeted entryway that opened up to a wide hall lined with frosted glass walls. He looked around, at a loss, and located a secretary sitting at a wide desk to his left. He headed towards her and smiled tiredly as she looked up at him.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely.

“I’m looking for Sam Winchester,” he said. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Sam?” the girl said, then her eyes grew comically large. “Oh my god, are you Dean?” Dean started slightly at the fact that she knew his name, and was about to speak when she suddenly shoved to her feet. “Oh my god, just – please, have a seat, I’ll be right back!” She turned on her heel and was nearly ran down the hall behind her desk.

Confused, and more than a little put out, Dean glanced around and saw a pair of overstuffed armchairs by a window with an incredible view of Boston laid out before it. He sank down into one, dropping his duffel onto the floor, and finally relaxed. He stretched his BDU clad legs out before him and leaned back, revelling in the simple comfort of sitting on a seat that had some give, rather than the unforgiving metal and plastic of military-issue seating, or rocky desert ground.

He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and stared out the window, bearded chin in hand. He idly watched the early afternoon sunlight glint off the windshields of cars streaming down the street, and wished for a shower and a solid night’s sleep uninterrupted by gunfire or nightmares of fireballs and screaming death.

Facing out as he was, Dean missed the arrival of a dark-haired man, led out to the reception area by the flustered secretary. He stopped short of Dean’s bubble of awareness and just watched him for a moment, his eyes appraising.

The hair on the back of Dean’s neck began to prickle, and he looked around, eyes meeting those of a very well dressed stranger, handsome and intense in a navy blue pinstripe suit and brightly shined shoes. He had deep blue eyes, mussed dark hair and an unwavering gaze, and he exuded an air of confidence that Dean liked.

“Dean Winchester?” the man asked, his voice surprisingly deep and deliciously rough.

Dean got to his feet and nodded. “Yeah, and how do you all seem to know who I am?”

The man’s expression softened. “Sam speaks of you often, and with the highest regard.”

Something clicked for Dean about the man’s intense stare. “Are you Castiel?” he asked. At the slight widening of the blue eyes, Dean grinned. “Sam’s written to me about you a time or two. He speaks highly of you, too. Look, not to be rude, but can I see Sam? I’ve travelled a long way for a long time to get here and surprise him.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, “a surprise. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Dean, but Sam’s not here. He left this morning to help with a case in our firm in San Francisco. He’ll be gone for four days.”

Upon hearing that, Dean’s shoulders slumped. “Crap,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose you know of a good motel nearby? I desperately need a shower and a shave,” he said resignedly. This was not the return he’d been hoping for.

“You don’t have a key for Sam’s place?” Castiel asked curiously.

“He moved after I had left for my last tour,” Dean said absently, mentally running through a list of things he’d need to pick up from the store that he had counted on finding at his brother’s place.

“But Sam bought his house three years ago,” Castiel said, surprised.

“I've been gone for nearly four,” Dean replied absently.

Castiel looked stunned, then he schooled his expression. “Please wait here a moment,” he said, and turned on his heel. Dean waited patiently, and Castiel returned a moment later, satchel slung over his shoulder and cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, and if you could shuffle my appointments around for tomorrow also, that would be appreciated. Apologise to Linowski for me, and let him know I’ll be in touch later today. Thank you, Elle.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone.

“You could just write me some directions,” Dean said as he followed Castiel to the elevator and they stood there waiting. “I’m pretty sure I could manage to get myself to wherever I need to go.”

“I’m not letting you stay in a motel,” Castiel said, as though it were the most offensive thing he’d heard. “I’m bringing you home with me.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “No, man, it’s fine, really, just…”

“I won’t hear of it,” Castiel cut across his protestations. “Sam would be appalled if he knew I had just sent you off after you came all the way here. There’s plenty of room at my place, and it won’t be an imposition at all.” He met Dean’s eyes squarely, unwavering. “I insist.”

Sighing at the thought of a clean, warm bed, Dean nodded. “Thanks, that would be great.”

They stepped into the elevator together. Castiel looked pleased, and smiled slightly as the doors slid quietly closed before them.

 

Walking into Castiel’s apartment was like something from a movie. It was open plan, spacious and tastefully decorated in white, dark grey and crimson accents, but the amazing part was the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed an uninterrupted view of the Charles River Esplanade, sailboats on the water and all.

“Wow,” Dean breathed, watching the water sparkling below. “Nice view, Cas,” he said, impressed.

“Thank you,” came the pleased reply from right behind Dean.

He startled and spun around, finding Castiel right there, and damn, but the man’s face was attractive, from the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes to his maybe-intentional-but-probably-not five o’clock shadow.

“Word of warning, don’t sneak up on someone who’s just come back from being shot at for a couple of years,” Dean said, heart thumping in his chest.

“My apologies,” Castiel said, “I did not mean to scare you.”

“All good,” Dean said. “I wasn’t carrying.” Castiel looked horrified. “Kidding!” Dean hurriedly said, trying not to laugh. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m a bit stupid when I’m tired. If you could point me in the direction of the shower I’ll clean up and then get some sleep before you rethink your offer.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled slightly. “This way,” he said, leading Dean beyond the living area. He pressed on a wall panel in the hall that swung open to reveal shelves of linen and towels. He pulled one out and handed it to Dean, before closing the door and turning into the next room.

In the bathroom there was a massive shower cubicle made of glass and dove grey tile with a matching grey countertop above white cabinets. Castiel opened one the cabinets and pulled some shampoo and soap out, leaving them on the counter for Dean.

“Take your time,” he said, moving to the door. “I’ll come back and collect your clothes in a while and run a wash.”

“Thanks again,” Dean said, “I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure,” Castiel replied sincerely, and slipped into the hall.

Dean removed his boots and fatigues, wincing at the shower of sand and red dirt that accompanied them on the floor. He stepped into the shower and turned the water on hot, angling the head away from himself as it warmed.

He finally stepped under the spray, groaning in bliss as the hot, hot water started showering down on his head. It had been three years since the last time he’d had a truly hot shower, and nearly twelve months since he’d had a shower that comprised of anything more than dumping a bucket of tepid water over his own head.

He stood beneath the strong spray for a very long time, his head resting on the glass in front of him and allowing the water to pound down on his head. He watched with detached interest as the water swirled brown, red and grey down the drain, then finally ran clear.

He sighed and reached for the shampoo, squeezing a liberal amount into his palm. Just as he began scrubbing it into his hair, he heard a soft tap at the door. “Enter,” he called, scratching at his scalp with his nails.

“I brought you some clothes and things,” Castiel said. “I wasn’t sure if you had any. They should fit, though the jeans may be a bit tight.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “I should have stopped at a store on the way here and picked up some stuff. Another thing to add to the to-do list.”

“If you write me out a list of the things you need, I can go to the store for you later,” Castiel offered. “I have to go anyway, and pick up some things for dinner. I hope you like steak.”

Dean made a sound that was nearly orgasmic. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a good steak?” he asked rapturously. “I might actually love you more than I love Sammy by the time dinner’s over,” he said.

Castiel huffed out a small laugh. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Dean replied. “Have a seat, it’s nice talking to someone I haven’t been stuck with for what seems like forever.” Through the steamed up glass screen, he watched as Castiel moved to close the toilet lid and sat on it. He rinsed his hair under the spray, then decided to wash it again, hopefully taking all the sand with it this time.

“The last time Sam spoke of you, he said you’d been rescued after having been captured and your superiors had no idea if you were even alive. How is it you’re here now?”

Dean was silent for a long while as he scrubbed at his skin, removing months of dirt, sweat, blood, sand and grime, taking a few layers of skin off too. “Sheer good luck,” he said eventually. He paused to collect his thoughts, then began again.

“When I was captured, my team had just choppered into a small town that had been left relatively alone by the Taliban in the area. We handed out supplies, the medic tended the kids who needed medical care, and we set up camp for the night. It was quiet, there was no ‘feeling’ that you sometimes get when the locals know that something’s up, and we bedded down for the night.

“At around two a.m. local time, there was a shitload of gunfire; I mean, the place was lit up like midday. The locals were screaming and running around, no one knew where the shooters were, and it was just a clusterfuck. We grouped up pretty quick and lay down cover fire as we moved out to strategic points to try and figure out where the rebels were. Turns out they were everywhere, and they just swarmed the village. Two of my men and I were taken, the rest managed to radio for air support and got out.”

“Long story short, we were held for eight months in an encampment about fifteen miles away. The insurgents had done a supply run and one of their trucks crapped out at the base of the hill they were holding us in. In a stroke of luck you wouldn’t read about, the Brits were doing a routine aerial sweep of the area and saw it. They did some recon, discovered the encampment and came down like fury. They managed to get to me in time and got me out. I spent a week being patched up, then was invalided home and came straight here once I was stateside.”

“Invalided?” Castiel asked, having listened in silence as Dean told his story.

“I got shot,” Dean said. “Twice. But they were through and throughs, no serious surgery required, and here I am.” He shut off the water and reached out for the towel on the bench, cursorily drying off his hair before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out into the steamy room.

He saw Castiel’s eyes flick from his face to his shoulder, the livid red, partly healed scar tissue standing out against his tanned skin like a brand. “It looks worse than it is,” he said, turning to the counter to wipe the steam from the mirror. He heard Castiel’s sharp intake of breath as he saw the exit wound scarring, still with stitches in, and met the other man’s eyes in the mirror. “Could have been worse,” he commented sombrely.

He surveyed his own reflection and scratched idly at his scruffy beard. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of sharp scissors and a new razor, would you?” he asked. “I hate this damn thing.”

“I’ll go and see what I can find,” Castiel said, getting up and leaving the room once more. Staring at how own tired face again, Dean let his eyes fall closed for a moment’s rest. When he opened them again Castiel was standing in the doorway, watching him.

“You look weary,” he said simply.

“I am,” Dean said. “It was a long tour.” He sighed. “I’m trying to decide if I can be bothered shaving, or if I’d rather just crawl into bed.” He scratched irritably at his chin again, and Castiel stepped into the room.

“Sit up on the counter,” he said quietly.

“What?” Dean asked, confused.

Castiel laid scissors, shaving cream and a razor with a new set of blades on the sink. “Sit up here; I’ll help you.”

Still slightly uncomprehending, Dean did as he was told. Once he was seated on the counter, Castiel stepped between his knees as he draped a hand towel across Dean’s lap, and lifted the scissors to begin cutting the scruff away. All of a sudden, Dean had to focus on controlling his breathing, unable to look away from the handsome face just inches from his own.

He cleared his throat in the silence of the room. “How is Sam doing?” he asked softly. “I mean, he writes me and tells me all about work and you guys and what he’s been up to, but how is he really?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly, considering. “He is about as well as can be expected,” he said. “He’s become more serious since you were missing, and a little more mature, I think. He’s overworked and trying hard to prove himself, and between you and me, the other partners are noticing. Your brother is destined for great things.”

“I’m glad,” Dean said. “I should call him before I sleep. They told him I’d been shot when I got back to the base, but I’m not sure if he knows they sent me home.”

Castiel gently turned Dean’s face and continued cutting. “How long are you home for this time?” he asked, sliding his fingers down Dean’s face to brush the hair away to catch on the towel.

“I’m out,” Dean said. “For good. I spent enough time sitting in a hole in the ground to know that I didn’t want to do that again, so I got my honorable discharge sorted and came home. I’m getting too old and tired for that shit, anyway.”

Castiel’s sudden smile was brilliant, all white teeth and gentle eyes. “Sam will be very pleased to hear that,” he said. He put the scissors on the counter and leaned closer to Dean, whose breath stuck in his throat. His face briefly brushed Dean’s shoulder as he reached behind him to turn the hot water in the basin on to a thin trickle, and then picked up the can of shaving cream.

He shook it for a moment before squirting a liberal amount into one hand, then smoothing it over the hair on Dean’s face. His touch was deft and sure, and Dean felt goosebumps rise along his forearms. Castiel took up the razor and tilted Dean’s chin up with the nudge of a curled finger, before shaving his throat with long, smooth glides.

It was the single most intimate experience of Dean’s life, and he had been plenty intimate with plenty of people. But this was different, very different, and not at all unpleasant. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, obeying whenever Castiel’s clever, gentle fingers tilted his face this way or that for the best angle.

The atmosphere had gotten near palpable as Castiel rinsed the razor a final time and soaked a washer in the hot water. He carefully wiped the remaining shaving cream off Dean’s skin and tossed the washer into the sink, his fingers trailing briefly over the angle of Dean’s jaw and down the column of his throat, looking for stray rough patches before he took a step back, hand clenching briefly.

“All done,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” Dean said, just as quiet. “For all of this,” he added, his hand wave encompassing their entire association.

“Any time,” Castiel said seriously. “Now,” he said steadily, “would you like to eat, or go straight to bed?”

“I need to call Sam, then I need desperately to sleep,” Dean replied. “Uh, can I borrow your phone?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “Get changed, then come out to the living room.” He stooped gracefully to bundle up Dean’s uniform before leaving the bathroom.

Dean ran his hands slowly over his face, his fingers following the path Castiel’s had taken moments before. He wasn’t sure what to make of the scene, but it had sure given him a lot to think about. He quickly changed, hung the towel on the rack and left the bathroom, looking for Castiel. He heard the man’s voice coming from the kitchen, and followed it.

“Sounds to me like it’s a pretty clear case, Sam,” Castiel said into the phone. His eyes crinkled at Dean when he caught sight of him, and Dean grinned back. He suddenly, desperately, missed Sam. “Could you hold on for a moment please?” He handed the phone to Dean.

“I hope you’ve cut your hair since I saw you last, little brother,” he said.

There was a moment of silence. Then, cautiously, “Dean?”

“You got any other big brothers I should know about?”

“Jesus, Dean! What are you doing back home? When did you get back? Are you at Castiel’s place? Are you okay? I mean, they told me you’d been shot, and then I couldn’t get anyone to tell me anything else and I’ve been worried sick-”

“Whoa, calm down there, Sammy! I’m fine, got back today, and I came straight to Boston looking for you, but of course you have to go jet setting off around the country. Cas took pity on me and offered to let me stay here until you get back because I don’t have a key to your place.”

“Cas? Seriously? You’re staying in his apartment? Wow. Okay, I guess. God, it is so good to hear your voice, Dean. I was so scared.”

“I know, man,” Dean said gently. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get your ass back to Boston.”

“It should only be a few days, a week at most. Things seem pretty simple here, I’m not sure why they got me to come.”

“Everyone can use a boy genius from time to time,” Dean said.

“Dude, I’m thirty,” Sam protested.

“Should probably stop saying ‘dude’, then, dude,” Dean smirked.

“Whatever, asshole. Dean, I have to go, but I’m really glad you’re home. Can’t wait to see you. Are you sure you’re okay? Is there anything you need?”

“I’m okay, Sammy. Really. Talk soon.”

“Bye, Dean.”

The call disconnected and Dean smiled, turning to Castiel. “Thank you so much,” he said, almost pathetically grateful.

“If you keep thanking me, I’ll have to kick you out,” Castiel said. He handed Dean a glass of water. “The bedroom is the next door up from the bathroom. I put fresh sheets on, and there’s a pair of sweats you can sleep in if you prefer.”

“I would thank you,” Dean said, “but I’d hate to be kicked out. Your view is awesome.”

“Go,” Castiel said, smiling.

Dean went.

 

When he next woke, the room was entirely dark and for a brief moment Dean panicked, thinking he was back in the hole. Then he caught sight of the glowing green numbers on an alarm clock and remembered. Getting back to Boston. Meeting Castiel. That amazing moment with him in the bathroom. Talking to Sammy and finally collapsing onto a soft, clean-smelling bed.

He rolled over onto his back, ignoring the ache in his shoulder, and let out a deep, contented breath. The apartment was almost entirely silent, but Dean could smell something delicious, making his stomach rumble loudly in protest at not having eaten in over a day. He contemplated just going back to sleep, but decided to get up and eat before his stomach started digesting itself.

He fumbled to the bathroom door in the near-complete darkness. When he was done, he entered the hall and made his way to the living area. The rest of the apartment was silent too, with only the lights in the kitchen on. Dean frowned, wondering where Castiel was, but caught sight of him out on the balcony.

He made his way to the open door and walked out, the bite of the evening air cutting through his shirt. Castiel was sitting at a small table and poring over a book, a notepad and pen by his hand. As Dean watched, he reached for the nearly empty glass of wine above the book and raised it to his mouth.

Their eyes met over the rim of the glass and Castiel jolted a little in surprise. “Dean! I didn’t hear you get up.”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice raspy with sleep. He dropped down into the chair across from Castiel and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “What’re you reading?” he asked, the last word turning into a yawn.

“Criminal case studies,” Castiel said, flipping up the cover of the book to show Dean. “Terribly boring, I’m afraid.” He sighed and closed the book, placing it on his notepad and pushing it away. He leaned down and picked up a bottle of wine from the ground and refilled his glass. “Would you like some?” he asked Dean, tilting the glass in his direction.

Dean accepted it and took a sip, pleasantly surprised when it didn’t taste like the grape-flavoured gasoline one of his old girlfriends used to drink. “This is actually nice,” he said, taking another sip before handing the glass back to Castiel.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asked. “There’s a plate in the oven that should still be warm if you’d like to eat?”

“That sounds great,” Dean said, but as he got to his feet Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder to gently keep him in place.

“Stay, relax,” he said. “Do you need anything else while I’m up? Water, painkillers, beer?”

Dean gently rotated his shoulder and shook his head. “A glass of water would be great, but I’m okay with the pain for now, thanks.”

Castiel nodded, collected his books and notepad off the table and went inside, his bare feet noiseless on the carpeted floor. Dean relaxed back into the chair and looked out over the balcony, drinking in the lights of the city as they twinkled brightly in the dark. It was a hell of a view from here, and worth braving the cold for, in Dean’s opinion. Especially after the hellish heat of the desert he’d been in for the last several years.

Castiel re-emerged onto the balcony, a plate in one hand, a bottle of water in the other and a pair of sweaters slung over his arm. He put the plate down in front of Dean to reveal a perfectly char-grilled steak, complete with bacon and cheese-stuffed baked potato with sour cream and chives, honeyed carrots, buttered beans and crispy onion rings.

Dean looked up at Castiel. “Marry me?” he asked, only half joking as he took in the full picture standing before him. Cas was dressed in a thin t-shirt that clung to sculpted muscle of his chest, and a pair of comfortable looking sweats that bordered on looking indecent, the way they fit.

Castiel smiled warmly as he put the plate on the table and gave Dean the sweater to put on, tugging his own over his head as he sat back down, shifting. They sat in companionable silence for a while as Dean ate, Castiel nursing his glass of wine and Dean enjoying every mouthful. When he was done eating, he took all his dishes into the kitchen and washed them up, before returning to the balcony.

“That was the perfect homecoming meal,” he said sincerely. “Cooked to perfection.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel smiled. “Was there anything you needed to do tomorrow?” he asked, passing his wine glass to Dean. “Perhaps pick up your things from somewhere? I’ve cleared my day, so just let me know.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “I’m a career soldier, Cas, I don’t have things,” he said. “At some point, I’ll have to look at getting a place of my own, and furniture and stuff, but for now, everything I own is in that duffel bag.”

“Is that not a frightening thought?” Castiel asked curiously.

“The opposite, actually,” Dean said, twirling the stem of the glass between his hands. “There’s a freedom in it, not being tied down to a place. You can pack up and go anywhere, anytime you feel like it, and not have to worry about your house, or car, or shed full of stuff.”

“An interesting way to live,” Castiel said.

Dean laughed. “I’m practically a hobo,” he said. “But I’ve always had Sam’s couch to crash on,” he said, “and that’s been security enough for me. I’ve never really been home long enough to become a burden on him, though, thank goodness.” He offered the glass back to Castiel, who took it thoughtfully.

“So what will you do now?” Castiel asked.

“Well,” Dean said slowly, “I have an engineering degree, so that’s a start. And apparently engineers from the armed forces are in high demand due to their ability to bastard-fix anything at a pinch. But beyond that, I don’t know. I always kind of pictured myself at war, to be honest, so now I’ve got no idea.”

“You never saw yourself settling down? A wife and kids, white picket fence type thing?”

A smile quirked over Dean’s mouth, gone in an instant. “Not really,” he said. “Who’d want a busted up old soldier, anyway? Nightmares and PTSD do not a good husband make.”

“Ah,” Castiel said, and the conversation subsided into silence.

“How about you? Why aren’t you married yet?” Dean asked eventually.

“I was, once,” Castiel said. “It didn’t take.”

That startled a laugh out of Dean. “I hear you, man,” he said. “Not my dream.”

“Nor mine, as it turned out,” Castiel smiled back.

They fell once more into silence, passing the glass back and forth and refilling it until the bottle was empty. Dean yawned hugely and stretched his arms up over his head, wincing at the pull in his shoulder. He looked over at Castiel to say that he was about ready for bed, and found the man staring at the strip of skin along his belly that had been exposed by his stretch. Arousal flared through him, hot and bright.

Castiel’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s and he flushed slightly, caught out. “I think it’s time for bed,” he said, getting to his feet. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean replied, his heart pounding. He stayed out on the balcony for a few minutes longer, and when he went inside he passed Castiel heading back into the living area with an armful of blankets. “Just leave those on there and I’ll sort it out once I’ve washed up,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel said. “I’m taking the couch.”

“What?” Dean said. “No way! I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t realise I stole your bed earlier. But seriously, I’m taking the couch. I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“Dean,” Castiel said seriously, “you’ve just gotten back from god only knows where, where I’m sure there are no proper beds. The least I can do is let you have mine for a few nights.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest again, then hesitated. “It’s a big bed, Cas; we could share, if you’re cool with that?” He held his breath without realising he was doing so. It whooshed silently out of him when Castiel nodded once, sharply, and returned the blankets to the linen closet. He disappeared into the bedroom and Dean entered the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth before joining him.

Castiel was already in bed, propped up by his pillows and reading again, a different book this time. The only light in the room came from his side lamp, making the room seem cosy and close. He glanced up as Dean came in, eyes lingering before returning to the page.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Castiel and pulled the sweater off over his head. His shirt came with it, and he was untangling the two when cool fingers ever so gently touched the edge of the exit wound, carefully avoiding the dressing-covered stitches. He froze, tense, and the fingertips stilled.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said in a whisper, frozen and not moving at all. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Dean murmured back instantly. “It’s just a bit sensitive, is all.”

Castiel’s fingers resumed their excruciatingly careful exploration, moving from the ragged edges of the entry wound to the various other scars marking tanned skin. Dean shivered as Castiel shifted on the bed and his large hand slid down to curl around his ribs, index finger an inch from his left nipple.

Something warm coiled in Dean’s belly and pooled in his groin, and he knew that Castiel must be able to feel his heart racing.

“What’s this one from?” Castiel asked quietly, his palm stroking along the jagged white tear that ran down this ribs.

“Shrapnel,” Dean said softly. “Roadside bomb just missed us.” He shivered as Castiel shifted and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin.

“And here?” he asked, fingertip running over the trapezius muscle, and a thin scar about four inches long.

“Superficial. A shard of stone blasted off a building by a claymore.”

Another tiny kiss.

“And here?” A stippling of tiny white scars, like a constellation.

“Air rifle the summer I was fifteen; Sammy shot me.”

Dean smiled as a puff of laughter touched his skin before lips followed.

“And here?” Castiel asked again, hand coming to cover Dean’s right shoulder, the scar large and shiny.

“A burn from taking cover against a Humvee that was on fire,” he said, and his eyes drifted closed at the kiss that came next, this time with a flick of tongue against his skin.

“And here?” A small round scar on the underside of Dean’s jaw.

“Chickenpox as a kid,” Dean sighed out, goosebumps rising along his arms and across the back of his shoulders as teeth rasped against his skin. He turned his face to Castiel, who was close, so very close, with his eyes trained on Dean’s mouth.

“And here?” he breathed, index finger coming to rest on the upper bow of Dean’s mouth, the tiny little scar there, even as his eyes sought Dean’s.

“Brawling,” Dean murmured, the word lost to Castiel’s mouth as lips met lips and he stopped thinking.

He turned fully to Castiel and let his tongue gently caress the other man’s in the barest of touches. Castiel responded with a tantalising slide of his own tongue, deepening the kiss and sliding a hand up behind Dean’s head, fingers threading rhythmically through his hair.

Dean groaned, his hands gripping Castiel’s thighs tightly, long and lean beneath his palms. His thumbs began rubbing slow, gentle circles on the thin fabric of Castiel’s sweatpants, and he smiled as the dark-haired man shifted his hips unconsciously. He ran his hands up Castiel’s belly and chest, pushing his shirt up and over his head, and tossed it somewhere behind himself.

Then Castiel moved, pressing Dean down onto the bed in one smooth motion, careful to cradle his injured shoulder protectively. He laid his body over Dean’s and seemed to settle in, kissing him with languor, long and deep.

Dean shifted, bringing his knees up slightly so Castiel was cradled in the V of his thighs. He felt the twist in his belly again as the hardness of Castiel’s cock met his, and he ran his hands down Cas’ back to his ass, using the grip to bring him even closer.

Castiel writhed against Dean’s hips, desperately seeking friction, and started pushing at the waistband of Dean’s sweats. Getting entirely on board with that idea, Dean canted his hips up to allow Castiel to remove his pants, before helping him do the same with his own.

The feel of the velvety skin of his cock lined up against Dean’s own answering hardness was like a trigger. Dean curled a leg up and over the small of Castiel’s back and used his grip to urge him on harder, faster, until they were writhing against each other in something approximating rhythm.

Then Castiel reached down between them and took them both in hand, grip tight and hot, and so maddeningly perfect that Dean threw back his head with a groan and came, pulsing over Castiel’s fist as the other man bit down on the tendon between his neck and shoulder. Castiel’s rhythm faltered, and Dean pulled at his hips even tighter as he thrust upwards. A moment later Castiel was coming too, face buried against Dean’s uninjured shoulder and his whole body shuddering.

 

They lay like that for a long time, their breathing slowly evening out as Dean ran the fingertips of his right hand up and down the hills and valleys of Castiel’s back, even as the other gripped his hip tightly enough to bruise, preventing him from going anywhere.

Castiel nuzzled further into Dean and sighed contentedly, one hand carding through his hair over and over again. “Dean,” he sighed serenely, though his voice was broken and raw. “Dean, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “I’m going to need another shower,” he said. “Join me?”

Castiel hummed his approval at the idea, and carefully rolled off Dean, making sure he didn’t knock his injured shoulder. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving unselfconsciously around the room to extend a hand to Dean and pull him up as well.

He didn’t release Dean’s hand as they moved into the bathroom, keeping a firm hold of it as he reached into the stall to turn on the water. They shared comparatively chaste kisses as the water heated up, and continued to do so as they stepped into the stall.

Dean took up the soap and ran it slowly over Castiel’s chest, mapping the lean muscle there he hadn’t had the chance to admire previously. He moved gradually lower, his nails gently scratching against Castiel’s belly and smiling as it jumped and quivered, ticklish. He finally slid a hand lower and took Castiel’s cock in hand, lazily sliding his soapy hand up and down the shaft.

Castiel’s head was bowed under the water and he seemed unable to take his eyes off the sight of Dean slowly jacking him, a flush high on his cheekbones and breath hitching. Dean watched him watching, admiring the way droplets of water caught on his long, thick lashes and ran over his full lips.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, and hadn’t realised he’d spoken the words aloud until Castiel’s startled eyes flicked up to meet him, before crinkling into a warm smile.

“I was thinking the same,” he said, then groaned sharply and bucked his hips up as Dean added a twist to his upstroke. “Beautiful,” he ground out, and Dean’s chuckle was deep and aroused.

“You’re sexy when you come undone,” Dean said, leaning forward and curling his tongue over Castiel’s earlobe. “The expression on your face blissed out, your breath catching and hands clenching over and over.” He slid his hand up into Castiel’s hair and pulled his head slightly back, biting gently against his throat as the other man’s knees trembled. “You have no idea what that does to me,” he whispered against Castiel’s ear. “The things it makes me want to do to you.”

He leaned forward and began kissing his way down Castiel’s chest, his hand working him all the while. ‘When you fuck me later,” he said, dropping to his knees and pressing kisses to Castiel’s belly, “and you will, Cas, nice and slow- I want to see your face, want to see those beautiful eyes locked on mine when I can feel you inside of me.”

“Dean, my god, I’m so close,” Castiel said, voice guttural and wrecked.

Dean just smiled, and leaned forward to take Castiel into his mouth, applying plenty of suction and laving the head with his tongue. Castiel’s hands came to rest on the back of Dean’s head, clutching convulsively at his hair. He gently rocked his hips back and forth, a noise close to a whine making its way from his throat.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s ass with both hands and encouraged him to thrust a little harder and faster, sliding his hands to the back of trembling thighs and gently running his nails up and down.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, then came hard enough to momentarily lose vision.

As he recovered, Dean swallowed and leaned back, spread his knees a little further apart and ran his hand quickly up and down his own cock, coming a minute later over his own knuckles with a gasp.

Castiel went down on his knees beside Dean right there in the shower, cradled his face in his hands and kissed him deeply as the water drummed against their skin. “Where did you come from?” he asked dazedly. “I had nothing in my life but work, and then you walk into the firm, dusty and sad and now…” He trailed off, shook his head and kissed Dean again, their tongues sliding against each other sinuously.

They separated and got to their feet. Dean’s shoulder was quickly going from aching to outright pain, and Castiel left the shower to fetch him some painkillers. Dean came out of the bathroom with just the towel around his hips, and was met in the kitchen with a glass of water, two little yellow tablets and an appreciative glance.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean smirked. “You’re hot, but I’m exhausted and need to actually sleep.”

Castiel smiled a little. “I took tomorrow off,” he said. “We have time.”

Dean felt that flutter low in his belly again. “I like the sound of that,” he said, finishing his water.

They made their way back to the bedroom and were soon fast asleep, legs tangled together beneath the blanket.

 

They spent the majority of the next day in bed, only surfacing to eat and to watch a movie which ended up with them rolling off the couch and making love on the floor. After spending the afternoon napping in the sun, curled around each other on the floor, Cas woke first, stretching luxuriously as Dean rolled away from him with a groaning yawn.

When he was done he leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to Dean’s mouth. “Shall we go out for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“So long as it’s nowhere fancy,” Dean agreed. “I don’t have a suit.”

“I was thinking burgers and fries on the esplanade,” Cas suggested.

“You are literally perfect,” Dean grinned. “That sounds like a great idea. What time did you want to go?”

Cas’ eyes smouldered at him. “We could stay in for another hour or two, or we could go now and take a walk, get out into the fresh air?”

That familiar heat flared low in Dean’s belly. He snuck a hand around Castiel’s waist and pulled at him until he was lying by his side, one leg thrown over both of Dean’s. “What would we do for those couple of hours?” Dean asked innocently.

“I can think of a few things,” Cas murmured, pressing sucking kisses to Dean’s chest and up his collarbones to his throat. “I’ve got some washing that needs doing, or there’s some dusting… we could maybe even get really wild and… scrub the grout.”

Dean laughed and rolled over and on top of Cas so he was straddling the dark-haired man’s legs. “How can you make cleaning the bathroom sound so utterly filthy?” he asked delightedly. “I’m gonna get a hard-on every time I have to do the damn housework.” He kissed Cas thoroughly, but pulled away as his stomach rumbled loudly. “Maybe we should eat, first,” he smiled.

“Maybe,” Cas agreed, his thumbs rubbing over Dean’s hipbones and his eyes focussed on his lips.

“C’mon Cas, you’re making this hard for me,” Dean groaned.

“You’re making it hard for me, too,” Castiel smirked, but he gripped Dean’s hips, curled up to press a kiss to the centre of his chest and gently slid out from beneath him.

They went and got dressed, sharing teasing touches and kisses, and left the apartment. They made their way on foot down Back Street, crossing the road to the Fiedler footbridge that took them across the road to the esplanade. They decided to eat early and stopped at the bistro, ordering burgers, lobster rolls and root beer floats. They watched the boats on the river as they ate and chatted the evening away. Cas told Dean all about working at the firm, and about his family; Dean told Cas about the Marines and his and Sam’s childhood.

Dean was having a great time, more fun than he’d had in a long time, right about the time a short, very fat and very bald middle-aged man approached their table.

“Hello, Castiel,” he said, shaking Cas’ hand when he got to his feet. 

“Hello, Marcus,” Cas replied. “What brings you here?”

“My wife and I brought the grandkids down to watch a movie at the Shell. You? Who’s your friend?”

“Marcus Brigham, this is Dean Winchester, Sam’s brother. Dean, this is Marcus, a fellow partner at our firm.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dean said politely, shaking the other man’s hand.

“So you’re Sam’s brother, huh? I’ve got to say, he’s a brilliant kid, our Sam. Just brilliant. Probably a little more focussed than is strictly healthy, but he’s got a talent for defence, that boy.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dean smiled. “He’s worked hard for it.”

“We partners are very appreciative of his efforts. But enough shop talk- Sam says you’re in the military?”

“I’m out now; I got shot and decided not to tempt fate further.”

“Excellent, excellent. I know Sam will be thrilled to have you home.” Marcus waved past them to someone. “I need to get going. Dean, great to meet you. See you back at the office, Castiel.”

Dean and Cas resumed sitting at the table. As they began finishing their meal, Dean stretched his legs out beneath the table, sliding his calf along Castiel’s, who promptly shifted away, not even glancing at him as he concentrated on his meal. Dean frowned, but shrugged it off, ignoring Cas’ protests as he slid some cash from his wallet to pay for the meal.

“It’s the absolute least I could do, seeing how you’re letting me – a total stranger, mind you – stay with you. Please, let me.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Cas argued as they stood and left the bistro, “you’re Sam’s brother. And given how much Sam talks about you, and some of the letter you wrote to him, I feel like I already know you.”

“You read those, huh?” Dean asked.

“Sam has shared some of your more, shall we say ‘colourful’, misadventures.”

Dean laughed, and attempted to sling his arm around Cas’ shoulders as they walked down towards the water, but the other man stepped deftly out of the way. Weird. That was the second time that had happened, and Dean was getting the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that Cas didn’t want to be seen as anything other than platonic with Dean in public. Which would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that they had pretty much spent more time naked together in the last thirty six hours than not.

Uneasy, Dean let Cas carry the conversation, replying where required and seeing just about none of the scenery they were strolling past. He didn’t miss the surreptitious glances Cas was throwing his way, but he avoided them, concentrating abnormally hard on the path beneath his feet.

They meandered up to Longfellow Bridge before turning around and returning the way they had come. The backs of their hands brushed several times before Dean caught the heated looks Cas was casting his way and he realised it was deliberate. Dean smirked at him, allowing his pinkie to catch against Cas’ as he walked a little closer to Castiel’s side.

It was full dark by the time they made it back to the apartment. The silence they had maintained for the majority of their walk continued in the elevator, though there was an undercurrent that surrounded them all the same. Dean leaned tiredly beside the door as Cas fished his keys out of his pocket, and followed him in.

Before there were even any lights turned on Cas was on Dean, shoving him back against the door, his mouth hot and demanding, his hands everywhere at once. Taken entirely by surprise it was a moment before Dean reacted. But as his fatigue slipped from him his hands came up to begin pulling Cas’ shirt from his pants and slide up the smooth skin of his back.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me keep from doing indecent things to you in public while we were out?” Cas muttered as his mouth moved restlessly over Dean’s neck. “It would have ended with us being arrested.”

“I happen to know an excellent lawyer,” Dean laughed throatily, his hands coming up to cradle Cas’ head, fingers carding through his thick, dark hair. “A very talented lawyer, with a very clever tongue,” he groaned, then stared down, flushed with arousal, as Cas dropped to his knees before him and began undoing his jeans. He wasted no time in taking Dean’s dick into his mouth, giving the sloppiest, most arousing blow job Dean had ever received.

Hands still in Cas’ hair, Dean’s thumbs stroked gently over high cheekbones as lust-blown midnight blue eyes stared up at him, illuminated only by the moon and city lights flooding in through the enormous windows of the apartment. Dean thought he’d never get that image out of his mind, and was perfectly happy with that.

He focused on trying to remember to breathe as Cas’ tongue caressed him, the suction threatening to cancel out Dean’s higher brain function. He shuddered as a hand came up to gently roll his balls in time with strong sucks and widened his stance as much as he could to allow better access.

“Cas,” he groaned, “I’m close. Really close, so you’d better…” He trailed off as he was swallowed further down, almost all the way, and came with a hoarse cry, back arched and head thrown back to thump against the door with the force of his orgasm.

The next thing he knew, Cas was standing and rutting against him, kissing him with desperate need. Dean obliged by taking Cas in hand and stroking him with short, sharp jerks to match the motion of his hips until he came, splashing hotly over Dean’s belly.

The came down slowly, foreheads resting together and breathing into each other’s mouths in between chaste, brief kisses. “This might have actually been the best day of my life,” Cas muttered dazedly.

Dean smiled. “It’s not over yet,” he said silkily, and kissed Cas on the mouth before leading him to the bedroom.

 

The next few days settled into a comfortable routine. Dean got up with Cas around five for them to have breakfast and coffee together before Cas left for work. Dean then went back to bed for a while, and spent the day exploring, doing chores around the apartment and shopping for groceries or preparing dinner. Cas would call on his lunch break, if he got one, or in between clients if he didn’t, and breathily tell Dean how much he wished he could be at home when Dean described in filthy detail exactly what he’d do to Cas once he was. They would eat whatever Dean had made for them whenever Cas got home, usually before seven, then spend a few hours making love while they pretended to watch a movie or instead of sleeping.

Dean couldn’t remember having been so happy and content in years. He was missing Sam like crazy, especially when he was alone during the day, but this thing, whatever it was, between he and Castiel was all-consuming and hot as hell. Dean had been deliberately avoiding thinking about what was going to happen when Sam got back, because he really didn’t want to leave Cas’ apartment.

So when Cas came home on the sixth day Dean had been back home and told him regretfully that Sam’s case had turned out to be bigger than anticipated and that he would have to stay in San Francisco for maybe a week or more longer, Dean tried really hard to be sorry.

“I must confess to being selfish,” Cas told him, right before his eyes dropped closed and he moaned obscenely around a mouthful of the lobster ravioli Dean had made for dinner - entirely from scratch, thank you very much - with a pasta machine he’d found in the back of one of Cas’ cupboards.

“About what?” Dean asked, a little breathless as he watched Castiel’s pale throat move when he swallowed.

“About Sam not coming home yet,” he said, fixing his intense gaze on Dean. “I’m increasingly reluctant to give you up.”

Dean was thrilled. “Me too,” he confessed. “I mean, this is probably weird as hell,” he elaborated, gesturing between them with his fork, “but I like it. I mean, really like it. And I like you,” he added, flushing slightly as he looked back down at his plate.

Cas waited until Dean looked at him again before he smiled, nudging Dean’s knee under the table with his sock-clad toes. “I like you, too,” he replied. “Maybe…” He hesitated, expression unsure. “Maybe, even when Sam gets back, you could stay? If that’s something you’d be interested in doing,” he finished hurriedly.

It took a moment for the meaning of Cas’ words to sink in, but when they did, Dean looked at him with surprise. “You want me to move in with you?”

“Technically, you already have,” Cas told him. “Didn’t you say everything you own is in your duffel bag? Well, that’s already here. It, and you, would just… stay here. For as long as you wanted.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “You know this is crazy, right? We’ve known each other less than a week.”

Castiel nodded his agreement. “Most definitely,” he said easily. “But I also know I’ve had relationships that lasted months and had less than a fraction of the intimacy you and I share that failed. Who’s to say what will work and what won’t?”

Dean leaned back from the table a little, contemplating Cas as he ate, the sounds and expressions he was making indicating his enjoyment. It had been a long time since Dean had wanted to share his life with anyone, and only in part due to being so frequently deployed. He had always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type, never willing to give up his freedom and independence to settle down. And he’d never liked the idea of leaving a partner behind should something happen to him. He’d seen too many of his buddies’ relationships fail while deployed to ever think that he’d be willing to risk it.

But this thing with Castiel, this thing that was so unusual that he didn’t even know how to begin explaining it; this was something different. And he was home, now. He could commit time and energy to a relationship, not to mention a physical presence, and learn to be part of a team more intimate than the one formed by his fellow Marines.

“Just to be clear,” Dean said, “I’d be staying here as what? Your partner? Housekeeper? Toy boy?”

“Toy boy?” Cas snorted inelegantly into the wine glass he had just lifted to his mouth. “You’re far too old to be considered a toy boy,” he informed Dean tartly.

“Harsh, Cas,” Dean grinned. “So… boyfriend, then?”

Cas grimaced a little. “Can we say partner instead? Boyfriend sounds so-“

“Gay?” Dean smirked. “Yeah, partner is cool.” He paused, and his cheeky grin turned into something softer, gentler and more sincere. He was about to speak when Cas’ phone rang from the kitchen counter behind them.

Cas got up, shooting Dean an apologetic glance which he waved away.

“Castiel Novak,” he answered in what Dean teased him was his ‘lawyer voice’. “Hello, Sam, how is the case? Did you get the subpoena delivered?” Dean glanced up as Cas put the phone on speaker and came to rest it on the table between them.

“We did, but it’s been a nightmare trying to find the guy,” Sam sighed, sounding more tired than Dean liked. “We’ve entirely scrapped any plan for how long this is going to take. I’m so sorry to have to ask, but is there any chance you could have Dean stay with you for a little longer? I can FedEx you my key to give him sometime tomorrow-“

“Relax, Sam,” Cas said with a crooked smile. “It’s no problem having Dean here at all. He’s welcome as long as he wants to stay. You just focus on the case and stop worrying. Your brother is perfectly fine here.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam sighed again. “I really appreciate it. Uh, is he there?”

“Hey, Sammy, you’re on speaker,” Dean said. “How are you doing? Been sleeping? Eating right?”

“Hey Dean. Um, not really. But when I get back to Boston I’ve been promised a week off, so I’ll probably spend most of that sleeping and hanging out with you. It can wait until then.”

“Don’t go burning yourself out, okay?” Dean smiled. “You remember how many times you burned the candle at both ends and fell asleep in your dinner as a kid?” he asked with a laugh. “I carried you to bed with mac and cheese on your face at least once a week.”

“That’s because you bored me to unconsciousness with all your talk about cars, classic rock and girls,” Sam shot back. “And in that order.”

“Well it was the only way you were ever going to experience any of those things,” Dean informed him. 

“By whoring vicariously through you?” Sam laughed. “I certainly got an education,” he agreed. 

“You’re such a little bitch,” Dean said fondly.

“Jerk,” Sam replied automatically. “How are you doing living with Cas? Not going stir-crazy yet?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Dean said. “Listen, Sam, I was going to tell you this in person, but I don’t know how long that’ll take, so I’ll just tell you now: “I’ve been honourably discharged,” he said, frowning at the brief look of panic and abortive hand gesture Cas had aimed at him before he settled back down into his seat, expression reverting back to its usual intense calm.

“You… oh god, Dean, that’s fantastic,” Sam breathed, sounding like an enormous weight had dropped from his shoulders. “After your last tour and everything that happened I wasn’t sure if I could… but you’re… I’m so happy, Dean!”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean smiled. “So don’t worry about trying to rush home or anything, okay? I’ll be here whenever you get back.” Dean heard someone distantly call Sam’s name on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry Dean, I have to get back,” he said hurriedly. “I’m so glad you’re home. I miss you. And don’t make Cas have to kick you out, all right? Pick up your wet towels and make sure you don’t leave-“

“Goodbye, Sam,” Dean said pointedly, and ended the call to Sam’s laughter. “I guess that’s settled for now, then,” Dean said to Cas, and was about to ask him what the panicked look had been about when Cas smiled, the slow, lazy smile that usually meant they were about to end up in bed together, naked.

“Shall we go and celebrate?” he asked, tone innocent and expression anything but.

“What about the dishes?” Dean asked, his arousal sudden and pressing.

“They’re not going anywhere,” Cas told him, standing and pulling Dean to his feet, wasting no time in kissing him as he began to undo the buttons of Dean’s shirt.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed with a breathless laugh.

 

Another three weeks passed, and Dean grew more and more disquieted. Things at home with Cas were, in a word, perfect. They got along easily, cohabited a relatively small space with little friction, and when they bickered it was mild and easily resolved. Add to that the mind-blowing sex and the intimacy so easy and naturally come by that it was astonishing and Dean was waking up every morning with an increasing sense of home. It was everything Dean hadn’t known he even wanted.

Except.

Except for the fact that Cas wouldn’t touch him, or kiss him, or even allow his hand to be held in public, or anywhere someone may see them. At first he had laughed it off, and chalked it up to Cas’ shyness, or general weirdness, or whatever. But it was getting to the point where he would pre-empt Dean’s attempts for affection or casual tactile interaction outside the apartment. It was beginning to concern him.

They were getting groceries at a Trader Joe’s right before closing time one night when Dean came up behind Cas and dropped a bag of cinnamon-roasted almonds into the trolley, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he did so. Cas shied away so violently that he accidentally shoved the trolley into a shelf, knocking bags of crisps to the floor in a colourful foil cascade. He turned wild blue eyes on Dean who just stared back at him, before turning and walking away, straight out of the store to go sit on the hood of the car in the parking lot.

It wasn’t long before Cas came out, loading the groceries silently into the car while Dean returned the trolley. They drove home in silence, carried their shopping upstairs in silence, and put everything away in a silence that was almost deafening. When they were done, Cas turned to Dean in the kitchen, his expression uncertain.

“Dean,” he began, but Dean just shook his head tiredly as he tried to move past Cas to go and have a shower before bed.

“I’m too fucking old to be someone’s experiment,” he said. “Even yours.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, shadowed by the down light he was standing directly beneath. “Excuse me?”

“Come off it, Cas,” Dean frowned. “You won’t touch me in public, or let me touch you, but you’re perfectly happy to fuck me here in private. It’s not hard to figure out why. I’ve been through this before and I have no desire to do it again. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Wait,” Cas ordered one hand out in front of him to stop Dean from moving past him. “That’s not it at all.”

“Oh really?” Dean asked, his expression sceptical. “Because it seems like you’re pretty fucking embarrassed to be seen holding hands with another guy in public. But I’m invested in this relationship, Cas. I want to hold your damn hand and kiss your stupid face and tell you I love you when I fucking feel like it, in public or not!”

Castiel stared at him with a stymied expression on his face, and Dean was momentarily confused until he ran back over his words. Well, shit. That was not at all how he had planned on having that particular conversation. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed as Cas took a step closer to him.

“What did you say?” he asked, eyes wide.

“You heard me,” Dean replied. 

“Yes, I did,” Castiel replied as he took another step, his eyes locked onto Dean’s with laser-like intensity. “Now hear me. I’m not ashamed of you, and you’re not an experiment, Dean,” he said intently, moving so he was just an arm’s length away. “I’m a named partner at Brigham, Peters, Novak and Smythe, one of the oldest law firms in New England, okay? The Novak part of that is me. Now, Sam is an associate. Do you know what that means?” He continued before giving Dean the chance to answer. “An associate is a lawyer who has the potential to make partner. As with many other firms, Brigham, Peters, Novak and Smythe have an ‘up or out’ policy. That means that Sam has a limited time to make partner, and if he doesn’t, he has to go, leave the firm. In order for your brother to become a partner, I cannot be seen to be showing any preferential treatment to him whatsoever. A relationship with you, Sam’s brother, would most likely be seen as a conflict of interest, and would bring into question my role in Sam’s promotion, jeopardising his future with us.”

“We’re a well-known firm, Dean. Everyone around here knows who we are, particularly the partners. Law circles are small and incredibly gossipy, and if we were seen together as anything other than friends it could seriously jeopardise your brother’s chances at making partner. That is why I don’t touch you in public, that is why I don’t let you touch me, and that is the only reason I don’t tell you I love you back when we’re in public together.”

They stood staring at each other for a long moment, Cas’ words ringing in the quiet apartment and filling the space between them. “You love me?” Dean asked, focussing on the most relevant part of Castiel’s explanation.

“Of course I do,” Cas replied seriously. “From the first time I laid eyes on you in our reception area.”

Dean felt his belly flip, and his heart thump faster. “Really?” he asked, stepping right into Cas’ personal space, so close but not quite touching.

“Really,” Cas confirmed. “And you love me too, apparently.”

“Mmm, apparently,” Dean agreed.

“I’m not convinced,” Cas smiled slyly. “You should prove it.”

Laughing, Dean took the last step and kissed Castiel soundly. “I can do that,” he promised, backing Cas up until the small of his back hit the kitchen counter, kissing him again before turning him around and pressing himself against Cas’ ass.

He slipped his arms around Castiel’s waist and began undoing his pants as he dropped kisses to the back of his neck, smiling as dark hair tickled his nose. Cas was busy unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging out of it as Dean impatiently shoved his trousers down and began licking and kissing a path down the centre of his back, his hands loosely sliding up and down Cas’ dick an a maddeningly arrhythmic manner.

Cas’ harsh panting filled the kitchen as Dean went to his knees, sucking gently at the skin at the small of Cas’ back, and when Dean’s hand gently pressed on the middle of his spine so he was bent over the counter, a rough, guttural groan tore from his throat. Dean smiled to himself as he moved his hands around to grasp the firm cheeks of Cas’ ass, sliding his tongue into the space between. As he licked and laved, Cas’ harsh panting turned into a rumbling litany of curses, his invective-laden diatribe making Dean chuckle. He worked his tongue deeper into Cas’ ass, reaching back around to tug on his leaking cock as he did so.

Cas writhed, his hands clenching convulsively around the far edge of the counter as Dean slowly drove him insane with his tongue, thrusting it as deep as he could as he jacked Cas slowly, smearing precome along the length of him as he did. Cas felt his orgasm begin to slowly build, starting with white spots behind his eyelids, and as much as he didn’t want Dean to stop, he wanted something else so much more.

“Dean,” he growled, “stop. I want you to fuck me. Now.”

Dean felt a shiver run through him as the obscenity dropped from Cas’ lips, then he processed what the other man was actually saying. Up until this point, it had always been Cas who fucked Dean- not that Dean had a problem with that at all, because he really, really didn’t. So he grinned, stuck two fingers in his mouth to get them as wet as he could, and began circling them around Cas’ hole, teasing and taking his time to slide them inside as he nipped and sucked tiny bruises onto Cas’ ass.

He felt Cas shift and then jerked back as something hard clipped the side of his head. Still buried knuckle-deep inside Cas, he looked up to see a bottle of oil being waved in the general vicinity of his face.

“Olive oil?” he chuckled throatily. “You can’t even wait for me to fetch the lube, Cas?”

“Get your dick in me now, Dean,” Castiel growled, his desperation obvious as he thrust back against Dean’s fingers. “Please.”

Watching in fascination at the way Castiel’s hole clenched around his fingers, Dean added another one, but frowned. “I don’t have a condom, Cas,” he muttered, twisting his hand and grinning at the noise Cas made.

“I. Don’t. Care,” Cas snarled. “For the love of god, Dean, now.”

Dean got to his feet and took a moment to stare at the image Castiel made as he undid his pants, nearly naked but for his trousers around his ankles, bent over the kitchen counter like an offering. He poured some oil into his hand, spilling more onto the floor and made a mental note to clean that up before either of them slipped in it and broke their necks.

He kept one hand clenched tightly on Castiel’s hip, as though holding him in place while the other slid up and down his own cock, making sure it was thoroughly covered. He took another moment to use his oily hand to prepare Cas just a little more, making sure he was thoroughly ready. When Cas cast a frustrated glare over his shoulder at Dean he laughed, and moved in to press himself up against Cas, his cock nestling perfectly between his cheeks.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, smirking as Cas ground his ass against his groin.

“I have been ready for the last ten minutes, but someone is apparently content to move at the speed of smell.”

Laughing again at Cas’ snark, Dean positioned himself carefully, resting his dick against Cas’ hole. “I love you,” he said suddenly, and felt himself flush a little. “Just... wanted you to know, I guess.” And before Cas could reply, Dean pushed, just a little, and the head of his cock was gripped tightly within Cas.

Both men groaned in unison and Cas reached back to grab Dean’s hip and pull him close, making his dick slide even deeper inside. That seemed to be all it took to break Dean’s resolve to take his sweet time, because then his hands were on Cas, ghosting up and down the front of him as his hips began a maddening rhythm, a pace fast enough to get Cas right to the edge of orgasm, but not fast enough to get him over. He growled in frustration, trying to thrust back and take what he needed, but Dean just nipped the back of his neck and held his hips firmly in place.

“Dean,” Cas pleaded, his voice broken. “Please, please go faster.” It was practically a sob, and he suspected he should probably feel a bit embarrassed by that, but there was no way he’d ever had sex this good before, and figured he was entitled.

“Just wait a little longer,” Dean crooned in his ear. “I’m gonna make it so good for you, Cas, just you wait and see.”

“It already is,” Cas panted. “So good. Please just let me come?”

“I love hearing you ask nicely,” Dean panted back, speeding his pace slightly. “God, Cas, you have no idea how fucking tight and hot you are around me,” he groaned. “I’m close too, can you hold on just a little longer? Can you do that for me, Cas?”

Castiel half-laughed half-sobbed his agreement because really, what choice did he have? But true to Dean’s word, it wasn’t long at all before one hand slid from Cas’ hip to grab his cock, pumping it firmly a half-dozen times before he came with a shout, semen striping the cabinets as his back arched and his entire body clenched with the intensity of his orgasm.

“Cas,” Dean sighed before he came too, his length pulsing within Cas as his balls emptied and his teeth sunk into the firm muscle of Castiel’s shoulder. They came down together, their breathing shuddering back to normal as Dean pulled carefully out, his face concerned as Cas hissed air between his teeth. He was relieved, however, when blue eyes fixed on his and he suddenly had an armful of very appreciative lover, kissing him deeply and winding strong arms around him.

“Dean.” Cas said seriously, “that was incredible. I might need you to prove your love for me on a nightly basis.”

Dean laughed, shoving Cas’ messy hair back from his face and kissing him once more. “I can do that.”


End file.
